Authors: Jean Craighead George
“Aw, come on, Craig. Haven’t you heard? Cathy doesn’t want her boyfriend blowing himself sky-high.”
“I see,” said Craig. “So that’s it!” He made a wry face and pushed through the door.
A
T FIVE O’CLOCK THAT
same night Steve was in his room painting the walls. He had no desire to see his friends or Batta, so when his mother mentioned that his room needed repainting he had offered to do it. He knew that concentrating on getting a brushful of paint against the wall without dripping it would help take his mind off the whole confusing autumn.
He moved carefully down the west wall where the transceiver sat. The circuit was still open, though no messages had come over it since the fight. He thought he might as well turn it off and disconnect it. He could do a better paint job if it were removed. He climbed down the ladder and walked to the receiver.
“Craig to Steve. Craig to Steve. Over.”
Steve was startled at the sudden blare. For a moment he stared at the receiver. Then he smiled. It was good to hear the familiar voice again. He almost tripped as he ran to his transmitter, picked up the microphone, and switched the button to broadcast. “Steve to Craig. Hi! Over.”
“Craig to Steve. Mr. Brian is going to help us put the rocket off. We’re gonna get to Zero after all!” Steve sat down on his bed and grinned as he listened to the description of Craig’s discussion with Mr. Brian. The story ended as his friend said, “So get the scale drawings and data of the Batta booster, and bring them to school tomorrow with a speech. Over.”
“Roger, over and out!” Steve switched off his speaker, closed the bucket of paint, ran to the basement, and washed out the brush. “So one wall’s yellow and the others are green,” he said as he dashed up the flight of stairs three at a time and over to his files. He took out a folder marked “Batta Booster” and spread out the drawings, measurements, and a photograph of the Titan III rocket which had inspired the design.
He refreshed his mind on the construction. Each tube, he recalled, was two and a quarter inches in diameter. He studied the first-stage rockets. There were six tubes, fifteen inches high, including the nose cones that Phil and Mr. Brundage had carved. He chuckled as he recalled how that had only been a whittling demonstration.
“The six first-stage rockets,” he said aloud in his best lecture tone, “surround the thirty-two-inch second and third stages.” He thought he ought to explain how an inner tubing extended down an inch to make a snug connection between stages two, three, and the payload capsule. He rehearsed the description.
Now, he thought, how do I tell them about the engines? “There are three engines apiece,” he said out loud, “in the six first-stage boosters. Each has a three-point-five-pound thrust, giving a total thrust of sixty-three pounds.” He thought that was wordy but went on, “The second stage has two rocket engines with twenty pounds of thrust. They give a thrust of forty pounds.
“And students,” he said to the yellow wall, “the third stage has four three-point-five-pound rocket engines with a thrust of fourteen pounds.” It was going easily now. Then he thought about the payload. He flipped through the stack of papers. The payload design was missing, together with the measurements for the test tube, two rocket engines, and transistor-transmitter that would beep back the whereabouts of the capsule when it came down. He found the diagrams of the wire that bound the first-stage boosters to the second stage, but no capsule. He switched on his speaker and picked up his mike.
“Steve to Craig.”
“Craig to Steve. Whatcha want? I’m busy. I’m trying to figure out the nichrome-clip assembly—the one that goes from the first-stage engines to the ignition panel. Did we ever diagram this? Over.”
“Yes. Johnny has it. He took it the day we rehearsed the wiring. I’m looking for the payload drawing. Do you have it? Over.”
“Phil’s got it. He wants to tell about that tomorrow, but not the experiment or banner. That’s still a secret, Steve, okay? Over.”
“Okay! Over.”
“By the way, Johnny’s writing notes to the committee inviting them to Batta D-day, T-time. He wants to know if this Saturday is all right? Over.”
“Wait. I’ll look at the calendar. Hold.” Steve leaned over the schedule on his desk. He returned to the mike. “Saturday, December the fourteenth—and I’d say eleven
A.M.
—is perfect for me. Mr. Brian can get this stuff in a minute. It’s simple. Besides, he already knows most of it; the theory, that is, and that’s the might of it. The practical stuff is as simple as assembling a flashlight. Over.”
“I’ll check the date with Mr. Brian,” Craig said. “Hey, Steve, know what Johnny said when I told him about Mr. Brian helping? He said, ‘Craig, you’ve thought good, and found us a man in the twentieth century.’ That Johnny’s a nail-hitter.” He was about to say “Over,” but thought of something else. “And hey, Steve, you know what Mr. Brundage said when Mr. Brian called him? He said, ‘I abdicate to the institution and the brilliant maneuver of the boys. It’s go.’ How about that? Over.”
“Well, now the only road out is up. Time everyone realized it. Over and out.”
Steve worked through his dinner, a pizza which he ate on the floor. He went to bed feeling light and maneuverable again. Even his feet clicked together as he dove for the sheets.
Just as he was falling asleep, Craig’s voice came over the radio. “Craig to Steve. Do you think the committee will come? Over.”
“Steve to Craig. I doubt it. They’re awfully busy, you know. Over and out.”
The next morning Craig met his friends at their lockers. Each had a folder in his hands. They talked fast and excitedly, then ran up the steps and down the tile-lined corridor to the science lab. Mr. Brian had not arrived. They laid out their notes and diagrams and swung to the door. Craig jumped for the top of the doorsill, Johnny jumped after him. “I feel as if the molasses is out of me,” he said. “This is a fine day.”
Craig was aware that Phil did not jump. “How’re your ribs?” he asked quietly.
“Ya can’t kill a good man,” Phil bragged.
“That’s right,” Steve said.
The lecture began at second period. As Steve began to speak, Craig noticed with some pride that Mr. Brian had a pencil and notebook. Steve opened the lecture by describing the layout of Batta, the launch pit, command station, and observation bunker. Mr. Brian listened intently. So did the class.
Then Craig got up, cleared his throat, and described the nichrome igniters. “These wires are the same as those in a toaster,” he said, “and get very hot.” He explained how this heat ignites the first stage, which sets off the second, and finally, the payload engines. He drew a diagram of the wires that led from the ignition control panel to the alligator lead clips and the terminals. “Then you plug the control panel to the battery, throw the switch, complete the circuit—and swoosh! A launch.” The class clapped and Craig sat down.
Next Johnny held up a drawing of an engine. “The outside is paper casing,” he said. “Inside is a solid propellant with a dual-thrust-level design. At the very tip is a ceramic nozzle into which the nichrome wires go, for easy ignition. This engine has a high initial thrust to stabilize the rocket quickly. That is, it has a large burning area, for faster consumption of fuel. After the first thrust, a delay-and-tracking-smoke charge goes off. This doesn’t make the rocket go any faster but permits it to coast upward to its peak altitude. After that, an ejection charge goes off. This sets off the next rockets, or, if it’s the last stage, it sets off the recovery system. In our case, we have a little parachute and a big one to bring the capsule down safely.”
Mr. Brian asked Johnny to repeat what he had said. He went over it slowly. Then Mr. Brian added, “By the way, Mr. Smith says they’re ‘go.’ ” Everyone cheered.
Phil got up and drew a picture on the blackboard of the payload capsule with its recovery system. He showed where the transistor-transmitter was, and how the range finder would receive the signals from the transmitter and beep louder and louder the closer they came to the capsule. Craig sighed as he skipped the description of the test tube. When Phil finished, his shoulders pressed back and he seemed very tall.
Mr. Brian took over when Phil sat down. He leaned against the lab table and faced the class. “We need about four volunteers for the observation bunker,” he said. The entire class of hands went up. He grinned. “In that case, I’ll just take the officers of the science club. The rest will have to watch from shore.” He turned to Steve. “What’s the chance of getting your friend Officer Ricardo to relay the countdown through his car radio? If you borrowed one of the Police Department’s portable transceivers you could set up a Batta to police car transmission so the students on the shore could follow the progress. As I visualize the situation, they can see most of the launch once it gets over the reeds.”
Steve thought the policeman would help and said he would be responsible for setting it up. “We have our own small walkie-talkie system,” he explained. “We’ll use these to keep in touch with each other during the countdown.” He thought for a minute. “That’ll make two systems. It’s complicated, but we can do it.”
Craig watched Mr. Brian page through his notes. “I guess that’s all,” the teacher said. “See you all Saturday.” He turned to the four boys. “Would you mind leaving your material with me? I’d like to study it.” Smiling happily they stacked their folders on his desk.
But as Craig turned to leave he saw Johnny slip out the drawings of the banner.
T
HE
F
RIDAY OF
D
ECEMBER 13
was the longest school day Craig had ever known. It dragged like a beaver’s tail.
At last it was three o’clock. The first boys out were Steve, Phil, Craig, and Johnny in that order. They didn’t wait for the bus, but ran ahead, piled their books on the upright piano at Craig’s house, and burst in upon Mrs. Sutton at the kitchen telephone. She put her hand over the receiver and whispered to them, “Please be quiet, I’m talking to the director of the Board of Education.” She glanced at Craig. “It’s very important.”
Craig guessed it was, though it seemed hard to believe in view of the day and the moment. He waited until she was finished.
“Can I spend the night at Batta?”
“Yes! Yes.”
She went to the sink. Johnny dialed home and got permission, then Phil. He handed the phone to Steve, who hesitated, then smiled down on them from his extra inch of autumn growth. “I’ll have dinner with you and set up the police transceiver in the command station. We’ll check out the walkie-talkies, and then I’ll come home. I have a date with Cathy. I’ll bring Mr. Brian and the science club officers over in the morning.”
Craig was not upset. He was beginning to accept Steve’s idiocy. Furthermore, ever since September he had felt it was often more fun without Steve. Phil and Johnny and he could draw comic books and laugh at their own jokes, which Steve, he noticed, was not finding very amusing any more.
“It’s okay,” Craig said to Steve. “Who knows, I may even like a girl myself someday.”
Phil shot Craig a dire look. Steve called Officer Ricardo, who said he would bring the portable transceiver to the dock at five o’clock as well as the long-range police walkie-talkies.
Several hours later the sun set on its early December schedule, and the swamp buggy touched the island wharf. Craig heard the sentinel of a flock of crows call “Beware” to its fellows. The flock had apparently come to the protecting hemlocks on the island to roost for the night. They heeded their outpost’s warning and departed as the boys came ashore with packs and radios. Feathers crackled as the birds flew.
Before supper Steve and Phil set up the communications system, and Craig and Johnny prepared the experimental snails. Then they went to Batta. Phil lit some charcoal he had brought in a bucket with holes punched around the bottom to give it oxygen, then set to work cooking hamburgers.
They ate dinner and talked. At seven they saw Steve off in the swamp buggy, ran back to Batta, switched on their lights, and slid into their sleeping bags. The water clock read seven-ten.
Phil rolled on his back and wondered how the science class would like the second-stage blast which had the powerful engines in it. He thought it would be glorious from the shore.
Craig said it would probably scare Cathy to death and they all laughed and agreed. Johnny hoped they had packed the banner right. Phil said they had, because he had folded it. As Craig thought about the banner his stomach whirled.
“That’s gonna be a real surprise,” Johnny said.
Craig nuzzled into his sheepskin bed. “You bet,” he said.
After the movie Steve walked Cathy from the bus stop to her home. They climbed the winding road up the ridge holding hands as Steve explained the countdown.
He left Cathy at her door, not lingering to talk any more for he was anxious to be off. He started up the hill toward Mr. Brian’s garage apartment, a made-over stable behind one of the big houses on the ridge. He had wanted to speak to him, but suddenly he did not. He went home.
However, in bed, his lights out, he found he could not sleep. Twice he got up and started downstairs to the telephone, and twice he went back.
At twelve-thirty he was still wide awake. He got up, bolted down the steps, and dialed Mr. Brian’s number before he changed his mind.
“I’m sorry to awaken you,” he said when the teacher answered sleepily, “but I thought I’d better tell you something.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell, but I think I oughta.”
“Well, only if you want to.”
“It’s about the rocket.” Pause. “In the payload is an experiment with snails. We didn’t mention that in class.”
Mr. Brian sounded relieved. “Good, what’s it about?”
Steve told him briefly. “Good!” the teacher replied.
“That’s not all I wanted to say.” Pause. “When the first stage falls away a banner will be ejected on parachutes. We made this last fall when everyone was angry at us.”
“Is it safe?”